Of Harps and Happenings
by Miss de Winter
Summary: D/N and other things. Happy, sad, fluffy, strict: a story, what's there more to say? Preguel of The First Snowfall.
1. Before

**OF HARPS AND HAPPENINGS**

**By Miss de Winter**

_Author's Note: There were three reasons for me to write this story. First, after returning to ff.net after nearly a year away, I was shocked to find such a lack of Daine/Numair stories, and decided to throw my goldfish back into the pond. Secondly, a certain reviewer of __The First Snowfall slapped me over the head and reminded me that not everything inside my mind is mysteriously known to the world. And thirdly, the idea stuck and I've brooded on it for so long I truly believe it can come out as something.___

            This is a prequel to _The First Snowfall. It's going to be a multi-chapter story, sometimes funny, sometimes fluffy, sometimes kill-your-self depressing. I naturally don't own anyone that you recognize._

            That's all, enjoy.

**_CHAPTER ONE_**

**BEFORE**

            _It was such a winter._

And that night, the sky was pitch-black and completely littered with starts. There were flashes and streaks as some shot across, and in the middle of it all was a white sliver of a moon, recalling to ones heart magic tales from distant lands. It was the most magical and amazing night to have settled on Tortall in many a year.

And yet, all she could think about was just how _bloody cold it was._

Daine shivered miserably and pulled Numair's cloak tighter around herself. She was almost completely swallowed up in the thick folds of the garment, but it still failed to efficiently warm her. She tried, she _really tried to appreciate the…wonder and beauty…of this great event, but all that would go through her mind was "he is insane. he is suicidal. he is a masochist. he is a __sadist. he wants to kill me. freeze me…"_

The object of her frantic contemplation was standing a few feet away, clad in just a jacket, his head flung back to the stars, and _he was mesmerized. The wind would rip and tear through his clothes and flap his sleeves and tug at his hair (Daine felt just a little bit guilty about depriving him of his cloak) but it didn't seem to bother him. Which was an oddity in itself, because it usually he that was complaining about the temperature. But in fact, __nothing seemed to bother him just then. Even the notebook, where he was supposed be taking notes and observations and calculations, was receiving as little attention as Daine herself at the moment._

Asteroid showers. She would shudder at the thought for years to come.

Besides them, the only other occupant of the Balor's Needle was some obsessed astronomer—a scrawny little man with wild eyes and a spastic twitch—and although Daine couldn't see him just then—he was probably on the other side of the tower—she was willing to wager he'd be in the same state as her crazy companion (and therefore, no help whatsoever). 

"Numair…" She pulled softly. She was whining, and she knew she was whining, and she _hated whiners, but right then it seemed one of the most worthy occupations. "Numair, for the love of… It's __cold!"_

No reaction. It took a loudly-cleared throat and a poke in the side to bring him out of his trance. He turned, and seeing her tortured expression slimed slightly (of course—her sufferings were amusing to him).

"I'm cold." She declared.

He raised his eyebrows, eyeing her wearily. She was wearing two cloaks, and uncountable layers underneath them.

"I see."

"_Very cold." She specified._

"'_Very cold?'"_

Daine glared.

"Why don't you go back inside?" He said softly. "I won't be long, I promise." 

"No." She pouted stubbornly. "I know you. You'll stay out here till morning and then you'll be sick for weeks, and I'll be tormented by the racking feelings of guilt for leaving you out here for your death. Come." 

Numair was untouched.

"_Please."_

 He reached over, gently brushing her cheek—his hand felt freezing to touch—and turned his face back to the sky.

Daine wouldn't give up. She grabbed his hand and yanked it hard, making him stumbled a bit and retrieving his attention. 

"_Come. I'm cold, you're cold, the crazy astronomer is cold… Let's just all go home and sit by the fire and drink something hot and be __warm."_

"In my right pocket there's a flask—"

"No." He'd brought it out to keep her warm, but no matter how cold she got, Daine wouldn't touch the whiskey. She hated the way it tasted and it always gave her headaches afterwards. "Just come."

"Magelet…" He breathed. "An event such as this would come around once in_ ten years! We should seize this chance to witness such a…magnificence... It'll be a long time before something like this happens again… " He trailed off, turning his head up. Daine gave his arm another hard tug._

"Ten years. Numair, I _swear to you that in ten years, if it's just a __little bit warmer, we can go out and watch your asteroid showers __all night. But tonight…even the river has froze straight through! And we've been out here for __four hours! You get just only one chance at life…"_

"I promise not to stay until morning, or to be sick for weeks..."

"No."

He sighed, although in such a setting he didn't have the heart to become exasperated. 

"I said _no."_

There was a small pause, and then Numair again turned, opened his mouth to give a long complex lecture, but for some reason stopped. Stopped and, with the same mesmerized expression he had when he'd watched the sky, observed her.

 He could see stars reflecting in her eyes, wide open and demanding, her face white in the light, and she _shimmered. His breath hitched in his throat—that was something he just couldn't fight with. She stuck out her lower lip in a stubborn pout, and in all that made her look so perfect, that he just couldn't help himself._

Feeling so very much content with the world and everything in it, so very much in peace, with everything so lighthearted it was almost amusing, he extended an arm and motioned her over.

"Come here." He said, voice soft but suddenly very gentle.  

"_Humph." Said Daine stubbornly. Numair beckoned. "Humph." She said again, but obliged all the same, walking over and leaning back into him, letting him encircle his arms around her. After a few moments of consideration, she added, "And don't you dare try any of your 'my sweet' things on me. It's a dirty trick, by anyone's book."_

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. Plus—I'm immune."

Numair's heart skipped, he raised his eyebrows and looked down. Such a challenge would do to distract him even from a once-in-a-_hundred-years meteor shower. He could tell that Daine knew exactly that. _

"Oh really?"

            She pursed her lips adoringly. "Absolutely." 

"'Absolutely?'"

"Completely."

"Is that so…"

Unable to resist, he leaned down and carefully drew her hair behind her ear. Daine, unconsciously, instinctively or perhaps in expectation, titled her head just a little and he gently brushed the angle of her jaw with his lips. 

"I'm so very sorry to hear that…" He whispered and Daine, feeling his breath warm against her neck, felt a shiver slide down her spine. Numair drew his mouth to her ear, gently scraping the lobe with his teeth. 

"See?" She muttered, a little breathlessly. "A_ mean and __unfair trick."_

"You're lovely, you know." He said quietly, in some kind of distracted wonder.

And of course at that she smiled, much pleased, and turned around in his arms for the kiss that had to follow such an announcement. 

Numair complied. He leaned down and carefully kissed the corner of her mouth. She immediately turned her head to receive the kiss in full, pulling her hands free from his cloak to wrap them around his neck. He pulled back and trailed a line of light, brushing kissed along her jawbone, and felt her completely melt against him. 

Inside her racing-tumbling mind, the only thought Daine could make out was, _Perfect. This is perfect. To stay like this forever._

 "Let's come inside," she muttered breathlessly, only this time it was with intentions far other than sitting in front of the fire and drinking something hot and being warm. 

Numair smiled slightly into the kiss, not at all against such a proposal.

"Alright." He whispered.  


	2. The Midnight Council

**OF HARPS AND HAPPENINGS**

**By Miss de Winter**

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_MIDNIGHT_****_ COUNCIL_**

It was that same starry-starry night, at that morning point right before the sun nears the horizon, when the world seems at its darkest and coldest. Even the Crazy Astronomer had by now abandoned his post at the point of Balor's Needle, off on some business to us yet unknown. Winds howled.

Inside, the walls appeared yellow in the candle light, and lapped gently by the flickering shadows, they seemed to sigh. Inside, it was a quiet night, peaceful, and the shivering cold outside worked all the more to emphasize the comfort and warmth of the room's atmosphere. 

He sat in a chair at the far end of the room, resting his head on hand and watching indifferently the open notebook lying in his lap. In his right hand there was a gray quill, frazzled and bent oddly, and the tips of his fingers were slightly smudged with ink. His eyes were half-closed and cloaked, but at the same time reflecting tiny yellow pin-pricks of the candle. In all, he proposed an enchanting scene, the dancing light brushing softly across his face and wrapping him in a state of touching mystery. Had Volney Rain but seen him then, he would have surely breathed him into his next masterpiece, and called it _The Scholar, and portrayed him just as he was then: head on hand, yellow light, hidden thoughts. _

Of course, it was obvious his thoughts weren't exactly on scholarly matters just then, but a lover's contemplations aren't to be scolded at, neither revealed, which is why they won't be retold here. But it will be said that they were light and un-foreshadowing, merely sweet pleasantries that can't help but steal away one's thoughts and amuse one's mind.

Time was passing slowly when Numair returned to the living world. He yawned and stretched his arms before him, a long, cat-like motion in his presentation. The notebook from his lap slipped and he jerkily doubled to grab it, caching it against his legs before it hit the floor. He stood and again stretched, this time his whole essence, spreading wide his fingers and flexing, bending back slightly and sighing. Then he rapidly shook his head to clear it, and tossed down his great notebook onto a around, one-legged table at his hand, laying the quill flatly on top. He was about to wonder at the time when a distant foggy droning was heard, informing him that it was three o'clock in the morning.

Cursing half-heartily the fact that he got absolutely no work done (but it was so very definitely worth it), Numair pulled back his hair and began making his way to the bedroom, swindling about some randomly-placed chairs, highly-stacked piles of books and for some reason a young mango tree. He remotely thought they should somehow get the place in order, though it was an automatic response, having little meaning to him. As he entered the bedroom, he forgot to recall his Gift, and the flickering candle was left to burn all night, finally to go out much later in silence.

Upon seeing white moonlight spilling unto the bed and hearing Daine's soft breathing, he immediately realized just how tired he was then, and had to stifle another yawn as he began to unbutton his shirt. He watched Diane as she slept, turning onto her back, and he could see she was smiling, which made him smile, and he wondered what she dreamt of. As he lowered himself besides her, he brushed her bare shoulder with the tips of his fingers, and as relaxed his head on the pillow, he realized that he'd smudged her with ink. Unexplainably, he felt very sorry for that, and with all then completed, he slept.

And she slept, too, and Ganiel that night bestowed upon her pleasant dreams. Sweet and light were they, as Numair's had been, and of no significance that would trouble the heart. Calmed, tired, wrapped in blissful warmth, comforted by the quiet body besides her, while outside the air itself froze, this seemed just a continuation of perfect night, and it was so very cherished. 

Peace, comfort, a sleepy, foggy content. Almost as if wrapped by soft cotton, with her firmly against his side. Perfection, to its deepest degree. It seemed just then that nothing in the world could possibly be more precious. Only… One, two, and then—

"Master Numair! _Master Numair!" And heavy pounding, rattling the door. Numair tried to untangle himself from his sleep, blinking hard in alarm. __"MASTER NUMAIR!"  _

Confused, startled, he tumbled out of bed, found his feet and tried to push his hair back. The pounding on the door continued, as did the frantic young voice on the other side of it. _What say Shakith? He thought dizzily and stumbled towards the disruption. His way was barred by walls upon walls of books it seemed, and he nearly tripped over __Amber's Collections of Transfusion Theoretics. By the time he finally got to the door and yanked it open and hung onto it, the young page outside was nearly in tears._

"What _is it?" He gasped, staring down at the little boy who was trembling head to toe. "What?"_

The child gulped and slurred everything out at amazing speed. "His Majesty requests your presence, sir, in his study, instantly, said he, for matters of uttermost and—and— unputoffability and Miss Daine too, and I'm to—guide you there—instantly—and—instantly…sir…"   

Numair frowned, nodded briefly and quickly shut the door. Whatever could such a call mean, in the middle of the nights, he commanded himself not to even wonder about. He was now wide awake, alert, feeling his Gift prickling the tips of his fingers. He strode into the bedroom, dressed in matter of seconds, and bend over the bed.

"Daine!" He muttered, gently shaking her shoulder. "Daine!" 

"Wh—?"

"Come, now, wake up. Daine!"

Her eyes shut open and she sat up, alarmed. "Numair, what is it?"

Without a pause he pressed her clothes into her, motioning for her to get up. "Come, get dressed, quickly. We're summoned before the King. Something's happened."

She stared for a moment, shocked, then he fervently motioned her up, and she fell out of bed. She scrambled to her feet and fumbled with the shirt while he watched.

"What happened?" She breathed anxiously.

"I don't know, a page is at the door." She hopped on one foot as she tugged on a shoe. "Are you ready? Good. Come on."   

            He took her hand and led her out, catching her when she in her confusion tripped, just as he had, on _Amber's Collections of Transfusion Theoretics. The young page breathed an obvious sigh of relief when the door opened and they came out, and, having gotten his nerves under control, shut off down the hall at a pace they were barely able to follow. _

            "What's going on?" Daine whispered frantically, hanging onto his arm. He didn't really answer.

In no less than four minuets, they found themselves before the double doors of the King's study. The page, panting, pulled one side open and allowed them to pass through, remaining outside once the door shut.

            "Numair—Blessed Shield—you've come."

            King Jonathan strode to them, pale and exhausted. He clasped Numair's hand in an almost desperate greeting and led them over to a couch. 

In the room there were two other mages, of highest rank, sitting in tall-backed chairs, gripping the armrests to the whites of their knuckles. Daine recognized one of as Shamil Naaduk—a dark, quiet easterner who sometimes worked with Numair. The other was an odd Northerner who she had seen but once from the distance. Over to the side from them, there lay a man collapsed in semi-consciousness, drenched in sweat. Everyone looked shocked and alarmed, all had black circles under their eyes. Daine, frightened by whatever the scene could mean, slid up as close to Numair as she could once they sat and took his hand into both of hers. 

Numair nodded a brief acknowledgement at the two mages and turned to the King.

"Who hours ago," Jonathan began urgently, "a messenger arrived from Carthak. It seems we're facing a catastrophe to rival the one two years ago." 

"What happened?"

Jonathan took a pitcher and poured a glass of wine. As he drained it in a singe motion, and motioned at them. Numair shook his head. The king then sat down his glass, again breathed. 

            "They're not sure." He said. "They're not sure. That's why I call council in the middle of the night. It can be any of a thousand things—it can be a major Power Shift, an unfolding of a new gate, a collision of currents… We just don't know… But there's something big here, that's certain. Tis not a trifling matter."

Daine shifted her eyes between the King and Numair. She hadn't often been one privy to the Jonathan in such anxiety. His hands didn't shake, and neither did his voice, but his distress was painfully obvious by the clouding of his eyes and uncharacteristic pacing. She bit her lip, in utter confusion, her head spinning. She only faintly new what a _current was, the unfolding Gates was a concept completely alien, and judging by Numair's reaction, she didn't __want to know what a Power Shift was. She squeezed Numair's hand and watched him as he watched the King, complete in alertness and concentration, waiting._

            "Precisely three days ago, a certain mage, James Maverick—" Numair nodded briefly at the name, it was known to him, "experienced a slight Shift. He was in his laboratory when it happened, conducting an experiment on the effects of _Marne on the Gift. Annoyed at the interruption, naturally, he waited until everything returned to normal. However four hours passes and it didn't, and he found himself drained for no apparent reason. Then—something else came about…" Jonathan took a slight scroll from his desk and handed it to Numair. "This is his report. I can't make the earth or heavens from it."_

            Numair took the scroll and opened it, his eyes immediately skipping down over the almost-illegible writing. Daine leaned over to look at it, but it was such a jumble of alien terms, over-studied concepts and phrases in ancient languages that after a moment she retreated. However, her companion, it seemed, had no problem comprehending the message. As she watched, Numair's lips tightened, his eyebrows raised and he visibly paled. This worked all more to unnerve her. Feeling her pulse start to speed up, she shifter gingerly. 

            "What is it?" She whispered to Numair.

            "This is indeed a devilry." He muttered to the room. "Shalim, what say you of the time lapse? It's not naturally caused, is it?"

             "No time lapses are naturally caused." Shalim answered, rapidly tapping a finger on the armrest. "But if you mean whether it was controlled— there is no way to tell with the information given. I need much closer observation to be able to tell _anything about it. Maverick says nothing of the matter."_

"What difference could it make, if the lapse was controlled or not?" The Northerner spoke. "It is but a side effect."

Numair bit his lip and shook his head. "It could be a side effect only if it's naturally caused. If the lapse was controlled, then we know human forcers are meddling. That can be taken as good or bad news—depending whose side this meddler is on. But Shalim is right. There are many very important questions left unanswered in this report." He turned to the semi-conscious man. "Was there no oral message?"

The man shook his head distractedly. "Sir, no," he mumbled. Numair nodded.

"Alright. Assuming it was controlled—"

"—then Maverick was drained."

"But where would be the profit in draining Maverick?"

"Shalim, tell me. Is it _possible for the time lapse to be naturally occurring?"_

Shalim shrugged. "It's possible." He said. 

"Then there is mischief afoot here." Said the Northerner. "Could _Marne__ have been the cause?"_

"Again, possible. But Maverick doesn't say of it enough." 

"Maverick doesn't say enough of _anything."_

Over the course of the next hour there insured an urgent, stammering discussions, with short barked questions and rapid biting answers. Over and over was the phrase "Not enough information. _Not enough information!" uttered, each time more desperately. In manner of seconds, Daine was swimming, completely lost and confused. She couldn't understand half the works spoken. Her gaze would shift madly from speaker to speaker, until in all become just a roar in the back of her ears. _

Why Jonathan summoned _her to this council? The two mages, in their fire, made no acknowledgement of her existence. Numair, when she's started fidgeting nervously, wrapped an iron arm around her, and now and again she would turn to watch his face, dark eyes glistening._

Though knowing it was completely out of place, she would then feel a surge of pride for him, an unnerving love for the glisten there, and the deep thorough intelligence watching there. Combined with the time and place, it was an odd combination of fright, awe, love, and alarm that pounded through her them.

"Could the Shift have drained him?"

"No, he says it's a 'slight' Shift, and a slight shift wouldn't drain anyone."

"But what if he was at the intersection of the Power Shift?"

"The chances of that are one in a million—and he would be dead."

Over and over and over and over. As rapid and fiery as their contemplations were, time slowed and crawled, and soon there came about slumped shoulders and pressed eyelids and rubbed foreheads.

She understood nothing, and it sickened her.  By the time dawn came and went, Daine began to feel dullness settle in the back of her throat. She was tired and clammy, out of place and a little hungry. Hopeless, feeling Numair's own frustration vent through her. For all its importance, she yearned for the meeting to end. She was glad when the Northerner, finally having lost his patience, slammed a fist down on the desk.

"Enough!" He cried, surprising all of them. Jonathan looked at him reproachfully while Numair merely sighed. "Maverick pleads so desperately our aid, but there is nothing in his report for us to work with. It's like treading a fool's web! I wouldn't be surprised if he was drunk in writing this!" He suddenly reared on the messenger, who had long ago fallen asleep, forgotten. "Ay, boy! Was Maverick drunk?!"

"Dolan, sit down." Shalim said, yanking him back to his seat. 

"There are answers that we need, and we need them quickly." Numair said. "We need to see the scene, we need to examine Maverick. This right now is fruitless winding."

"An _hour of fruitless winding." Said the Northerner. _

Jonathan was now no longer pale, there were two bright spots of color burning on his cheeks, but he looked no less desperate or exhausted. After a moment of silence, he sighed (it seemed a common practice at this council) and looked wearily at his friend.

"Then you know, Numair," he said, "what I must ask of you."

Again there was a pause. Daine felt Numair squeeze her hand gently, and was immediately quite uneasy.

"It shouldn't take very long." Numair said. "Two weeks, or so. We must hurry, though, for _Marne__  presence wanes after a time. Shalim, you would come with me?"_

At this Daine stopped.

"What?"

Numair turned and looked at her, very seriously. "I need to go to Carthak, Daine, for a time. It's an urgent matter."

Somehow, throughout the whole council it never entered her head he would be called away. 

But considering what his last trip to Carthak had ensured…she'd figured he would never have to go there.

Completely beyond her control, irrational thoughts began racing through her mind. Images out of awful memories and nightmares, gaining a will of their own, took flight. _A mad-eyed Emperor crushing the figure of her beloved friend between two hands… Rats, open ocean, soldiers in red… "__He was executed, a day ago…" A wild goddess, in flailing arms…mushroom cloud, with the black of his Gift intertwining with that of an enemy mage…all of it spinning, bearing, tearing…_

"Numair!"

But there he was, one hand first on her shoulder, the other holding her chin, looking at her very seriously. She grabbed his wrist, feeling a surge of protectiveness.

"Hush, magelet." He muttered 

"You shouldn't."

"You know I must."

            Feeling very self-conscious before the two mages and the King, Daine bit her lip and shook her head. Stubbornly she stuck out her chin.

            "Then I'll go with you."

            Numair sighed patiently. "And that you know you can't do either."

"Why ever not?"

"You have your duties here, and we must travel quick and now."

"Tis an evil place, Numair." She said softly, wrapping a second hand around his wrist. For a moment he just looked at her, then he brushed away a curl and she could feel her lower lip begin to tremble.

He smiled gently down upon her. Looking at him, with wide-open watering eyes, it was as though she thought he was abandoning her. "I will be back before a month is up. You needn't worry—things there have changed." He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. She smiled a little, just barely. "It will go past faster than you think it." 

"I still wish you wouldn't go." She whispered, looking up into his face. The image doubled and blurred as her eyes filled up. She shifted and dug her fingers into his tunic, as though to keep him here by physical force. "How long?"

"A month at most."

"But…"

"Unchanged and unharmed." 

"What of…"

"Just research." 

She sighed and put her forehead on his shoulder. "You'll write to me?"

"_O, sheathe thy sword, Mithros!" Cried out the Northerner. "Tis not the time, nor the place, for whipping female tears! For all her hindrance, her presence here is well nigh useless! Cease this, O Madam! I bid you return to your embroidery!" _

At these words, the room changed.

Daine reeled with the insult's blow, stared speechless at the man. _Return to your embroidery… She started to rapidly blink, trying to clear her tears from her eyes. _

 "Dolan, be silent!" Said Shalim, yanking him back.

Numair first froze. His muscles went stiff and rigid under her fingers, his face became unbearably cold. Then slowly, he turned from her and fixed such a look upon the Northerner, that the latter immediately realized he had gone too far. As Numair raised an arm forward, his lips pursed and black sparkled at his fingertips.

"Know you to whom you speak, to say such things, Sir?" He said, so quietly. The Northerner made no reply. No one else spoke. Numair advanced upon him, blazing. _Tick-Tick went the bomb. "Such knowledge is convenient to have, before one makes a speech so drastically. Upon My Lady's will, Jaques Dolan, you would find you whole estate in complete ruins, within hours, with your own horses bringing down the walls. And upon my will, you'd wither endless in pain, right here, in this same room. For your words offend not only her who others call the Wild Mage, but me as well." Numair lowered his arm and "smiled". "And I am sure that's not in you want." _

There was quiet.

Easily heard were four sets of breathing. Daine wound her fingers around Numair's arm and leaned her head against his shoulder, half in appreciation, half in amazement. 

The Northerner glared at Numair, one, two… But he was not fool enough to challenge a black robe mage in all his fury. After a moment, he exhaled said breath and bowed his head.

"My apologies, miss, I spoke in heat." He said. 

And that was that.__


End file.
